A Forgotten Past
by Kick-it-up-a-knotch
Summary: Sherlock and John are enjoying a quiet sunday at Baker street. When John brings up a fob watch, a watch that Sherlock Holmes cannot remember. When Sherlock looks closely will he rememeber things from a life he has forgotten? Is he really who he thinks he is? And will his friendship with John survive when everything changes? Sherlock!Timelord - Eventual Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

It was early autumn in 221B Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were spending the morning in the flat. It had been an average Sunday and neither man had spoken for several hours, both just content to sit in comfortable silence. Sherlock was staring out of the window, searching for something, anything. Just any detail out of place, anything to relieve the mind numbing boredom that had set in over the last few days. No cases. No news. His hand was twitching at his side, unnoticed by all occupants of the flat. Just four beats over, and over. One finger at a time.

Watson was resting in his favourite arm chair, paper in hand, trusty mug of tea by the side. The perfect Sunday set up. He was watching Sherlock. One doesn't flat share with the world's only consulting detective without picking up a thing or two after all! Sherlock was motionless apart from his left hand. Perhaps he was thinking of fingering for his violin? Oh yes. John was getting good at this. As he watched the man he lived with, he began to consider their relationship. He had noticed a change in recent months. Sherlock was beginning to let John into his life, and the two were becoming friends. Quite close friends actually, and although John had been out with women recently, he just couldn't get the detective out of his head, and none of them had worked out. That prick. Now he was going to ruin his sex life as well! Anyway John was sure Sherlock would never see him as more than a friend. God, he was lucky Sherlock considered him human most of the time! Sometimes he could swear Sherlock forgot he wasn't part of the furniture. And what was Sherlock anyway?! John had never seen him with a man, or a woman besides form that Adler woman, who he now refuses to talk about. John was staring to have trouble seeing Sherlock as anything other than asexual.

The silence had gone on long enough, and he scanned the room searching for anything to use as a conversation starter. His eyes fell on a silver watch that was lying on a pile of books above the fireplace. So John spoke. Simple words that would change everything.

'Sherlock, where did that watch come from?'

Sherlock pried his eyes away from the pavement, but did not look round, 'John I don't wear a watch, has your brain become so dull you're actually seeing things now?'

The doctor sighed, 'No Sherlock, despite popular opinion, I'm not that thick. The fob watch, on the mantel piece?'

Sherlock turned to face John, a blank expression on his face.

'Good god' John whispered. 'You really are out of it today aren't you? Sherlock. It's been there since we moved in. Right next to the skull as always'

John rose from his chair, and wandered over to the fireplace. Lying next to Sherlock's pet skull was a small pocket watch. There were markings on the front, an intricate arrangement of lines and circles, that reminded John of the patterns left by crop circles. He lifted it up, and was surprised to find it heavy, much heavier than he had expected. As if that one watch contained the weight of the universe. And it was cold. Colder than metal should be. The chain snaked down his wrist causing him to shiver, and just for a second... a whisper. Then it was gone, fading away into the apartment. A voice on the breeze. John frowned and stuck a finger in his ear, before holding the item up for Sherlock to see.

'Yep, there we have it! Silver, old by the looks of it, and completely forgotten by the great Sherlock Holmes! Wait, until I tell Mycroft about this, he'll have a field day!' John laughed. 'So, where is it from?'

Sherlock blinked, 'I don't know, it's not important John. It's just one of those things'

John stared at his flatmate, shock evident upon his face. 'You don't have 'those things' Sherlock. You know every detail of this flat. Seriously, you don't recognise it all all?'

Sherlock took a step forward, exasperated. 'What does it matter! It's of no importance. I'm brilliant with or without it, why should I care?'

'Because this isn't like you Sherlock! This morning you told me I had shaving foam on my cheek before I had even turned to face you! You notice things.'

The taller man snorted, 'An obvious deduction seeing as you smelled more strongly of the stuff than the towel you _should_ have used to wipe your face on, and another thi-'

'Sherlock!' John interrupted his ramblings. 'I.. I guess it doesn't matter. But think about it, you are aware of everything. I bet you could tell me what was on my bedside table right now. But you didn't even know you owned this. Doesn't that seem... odd to you?'

John stood to exit the room, mug in hand. At the door he turned to face Sherlock. 'Maybe' he smirked. 'Maybe you're losing your touch'.

Sherlock stood stock still. This was ridiculous. Losing his touch? Him! Sherlock Holmes. He was a genius, and he knew it.

'_I'll prove it' _he thought. _'Johns bedside table; half an apple, started last night on a whim as a bedtime snack, he wasn't really hungry; one glass of water – half full, a copy of 'The Radio Times' wouldn't be like John to fall behind on his soaps, (Though he would never admit it) and one alarm clock set to 6.30. A military man never really steps out of his army boots'_

A smirk played on the detectives lips. 'Losing his touch' ha! The concept was laughable.

_'Still' _Part of his brain insisted, '_you really had forgotten about that watch'._

Sherlock frowned. _'Ah yes. The watch.'_ Slightly problematic, and certainly unusual, but not an issue. The information was sure to be stored safely away in his mind palace. He only needed to find his way back.

Sherlock closed his eyes.

-Open mind palace-

_Searching..._

'Pocket watches the most common type of watch from their development in the 16th century until wristwatches became popular after WWI during which a transitional design, trench watches were used by the military. Pocket watches generally have an attached chain to allow them to be secured to a waistcoat, lapel, or belt loop, and to prevent them from being dropped...'

No! Not all pocket watches. _This one. _Right here above my fireplace, next to my skull.

Even as he thought of it he could feel his consciousness drifting away, as if fighting to forget the object again.

'Concentrate!' he scolded himself out loud. This was strange. Very strange. Sherlock Holmes could remember anything. He could remember a fountain pen borrowed from a colleague five years ago. He remembered the slight scratch on the side, most probably caused by being kept in a pencil case. But he couldn't remember this watch. His watch. An object in his possession! Even now he was having trouble recalling the bloody patterns on the thing, and John had held it up to him not five minutes ago.

-Open mind palace-

_Searching..._

Patterns – recent; speckles on the murder victim, the one John named 'the speckled blonde'; celtic runes; hieroglyphics on the Rosetta stone; crop circles. Nothing! Nothing of the watch.

Sighing, Sherlock turned away from his position at the window, and strode across the room. There it was! How could he have forgotten it? It's right there. It's his watch. A broken watch he's always had.

Yes that was it. The broken pocket watch Sherlock has had his whole life.

_'But where did you get it?' _The voice in his head popped up.

'I don't know! Mycroft will have given it to me! And it's broken anyway.'

_'You know that's not true. You made it up. How do you know it's broken if you've never looked at it properly?'_

And it was true. Although he was certain that the watch was broken, he couldn't remember ever having looked at it closely. Had he ever seen the dial? Was it really broken at all? He could feel himself being drawn to the object still lying in front of him. He was staring at it. Curiosity flooded through him. His only thought the watch and what it meant for him. The broken, forgotten fob watch that Sherlock Holmes had somehow erased from his memory.

He reached out his hand, and picked it up. One word. One word reverberates through his brain, shaking cells and clearing everything else out of his mind.

**_'Timelord...'_**

That word, completely foreign. Completely familiar. Hadn't that word been visiting him in dreams for years? Sneaking into his head while his mind was occupied by more important things. And the voice, _his _voice. Because it had been his voice hadn't it? But it sounded so different. The voice had sounded old and powerful and terrifying. Sherlock Holmes, the man who stares down the barrel of a gun and laughs, was scared.

But still the watch was calling him. '_It is time'_ It said. '.._open'. Trembling _he raised his forefinger to the top of the watch, and ran it over the catch. Summoning all the courage he could muster, he pressed his finger down, and opened the watch.

The front of the watch flew open, and the dial was revealed. A light was spilling out of the watch, glowing shining, speaking to Sherlock. The light reached his eyes and he was bombarded with images, emotions, sounds. The pain of a dying race, doomed by one of it's own. A thousand years of travelling, alone. Always alone. And running, so much running away. Away from enemies, with friends. Monsters, lost love, impossible things! The very secrets of the universe were flooding through Sherlock's mind. The mind of a genius was overpowered by the knowledge, so many years, so much information. His brain was being stretched, altered by the strange images. But they were his images. He remembered them all now. Memories of different faces on different worlds with different people. But they were defiantly his memories from his life.

The fog was starting to clear now. Sherlock's brain was adapting. But he wasn't Sherlock Holmes was he? Not really. He was so much more.

It was then that John Watson came running into the room. 'Sherlock! Are you ok? I saw a light and...Oh god you didn't make an explosion did you?'

The light had faded by now as it had moved into Sherlock's body, the light of the universe was residing in a tall floppy haired man from baker street.

'I'm sorry John.' He said, 'I really am, but Sherlock Holmes isn't here.'

'Sherlock, what the hell are you talking about?'

'Don't you get it John? Sherlock was a creation'

John stared at his friend. A thousand thoughts were racing across his mind. Not this again, 'Sherlock, we agreed, I trust you. It doesn't matter what the papers are saying. I believe in Sherlock Holmes' John almost sighed. This had to be a major step backwards. Sherlock was obviously doubting himself again, starting to believe the scandals published in the tabloids. '_Not now' _he thought. '_we're so much closer, he was letting me in.'_ And John was right. Sherlock Holmes had begun to consider John as a friend, more than a friend perhaps. But the man standing in front of him was no longer Sherlock Holmes.

'John, I'm sorry. But Sherlock Holmes is a fake'

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	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Ok here is the second chapter! I'm hoping some of you are enjoying reading my rambles! Also I can't decide if this should go in the normal section or the crossovers section, so maybe a leave a review and tell me what you think? So yeah, Enjoy and review! **

**This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful friend Taylor, as it is her 18****th**** birthday today. 3**

_'John, I'm sorry. But Sherlock Holmes is a fake'_

John sighed and looked down at his feet. His fingers furrowed on his forehead as he exhaled deeply. Was this Sherlock's idea of a practical joke? He knew that his friend's sense of humour was a little strange, but he couldn't see how this could be funny at all.

'Sherlock? Are you feeling ok? You sure you didn't hit your head in that explosion, or whatever it was?'

Sherlock grinned sheepishly, 'I'm afraid I'm perfectly fine John, never better infact! And I've already told you I'm not Sherlock Holmes anymore. Although I suppose I'll let you call me that for now, just to avoid confusion.'

'I don't think anything you could say right now would make me less confused' John sighed. 'Ok just start from the beginning, what's going on?'

'Oh I am sorry John, this must be horribly perplexing for you, and you are always so adorably slow at picking things up.' So, where do I start.'

'I'm not Sherlock Holmes.. well I am, sort of. He's me, but I'm not him! Does that make sense?'

John frowned. None of this made sense; perhaps he has better call Molly to check him over? But he nodded for Sherlock to continue anyway.

'Well the Sherlock you knew is a part of me, a disguise if you will a character. I needed to hide, and I think I must have hidden myself too well. I forgot myself John. All these years I've been waiting, solving cases and not knowing my full potential. I could have been so wonderful John! I guess it's just a bonus that the chameleon arch left my human form so much of my Timelord intelligence. Otherwise it really would have been boring!'

John was staring at Sherlock mouth slightly agape. Actually, screw that. His jaw was practically on the floor. The man was talking nonsense. These ridiculous words! Timelord, chameleon arch, wait.. Did Sherlock just imply he wasn't human!?

'Now wait a second, you can't tell me you think you're an alien or something? I've been living with your for years! I'm a Doctor, Sherlock. I know a human being when I see one, and there is one standing opposite me right now with that 'We both know what's going on here' look that drives me mental!'

The taller man bounded towards his roommate. He was practically radiating excitement. John normally only saw him this happy when he was close to solving an interesting case.

'Ah but John! I _was_ human! That's the genius of the arch! It rewrote my DNA and I forgot that I wasn't like you! But it's back now John and I can _feel _it. Years of intelligence rushing back. So much knowledge! And my chest feels alive, my hearts are beating out a samba!'

'H-hearts?.. Plural?!' This was getting ridiculous.

'Oh yes' Sherlock winked. Wait.. did Sherlock Holmes just..._wink?!_

Pushing past John ever so lightly Sherlock strode into the  
bedroom, and emerged carrying John's stethoscope. 'Go ahead Doctor. Take my heartbeat'

John frowned again. He was going to get worry lines at this rate. Still, the least he could do was humour Sherlock until he got him to a hospital.

John inserted the earpieces and placed the diaphragm of the stethoscope on Sherlock's chest. The cool of the metal made the taller man shiver, and it ran through John like a bolt of lightning.

Then he heard it. Instead of the usual two beat rhytm, four. '_Ba dum Ba dum'_ Almost, John thought, like the beat Sherlock had been tapping out not five minutes earlier. But this was crazy. It sounded like Sherlock had two hearts. John's hand shot back and he stepped away from his friend, stumbling backwards.

'I- I don'tknow how you're doing that Sherlock, but it's very realistic I'll give you that. Bu-'

'John' Sherlock spoke softly in an attempt to bring John back from his ramblings

'but it's not real Sherlock, you have.. you have some sort of pace maker or.. or a sound effects box, strapped to you!'

John looked at his friend exasperated. 'It's not real Sherlock. You're Sherlock Holmes.'

'John please, just listen. I know this is hard but you're friend is gone. I'm not him. I still care for you. He's in me, part of me. But we're not the same man. John. The Sherlock you know is dead.'

John sat down heavily in his chair and covered his face with his hands. How long was this going to go on for? That heartbeat had sounded so real maybe.. No! Get a grip John. Focus. John looked up to find Sherlock kneeling in front of him.

He spoke gently, 'Let me show you' and placed his hands on either side of John's head. And John saw. He saw the universe through the eyes of his friend. But he could feel him. And he was something else. Something old. _Really _old. Old as time, and so alone. He saw whole new worlds, and galaxies, and.. was that the globe theatre? And Rome?! Ancient Rome! He saw monsters, terrible creaturs with eyes and teeth! Some that could kill a man with a single glance. Impossible things that John could not have imagined in his worst nightmares.

And then, he saw the battlefields, and he saw nothing but death and destruction. He felt the winds blowing on his cheeks as the dust of dying civilisations fill his lungs. Ice cold, and acrid. He heard whispered thoughts, _'Scaro', 'Galifrey' 'Daleks' _and he saw the war. The war of all time. He could hear Sherlock's thoughts as though they were his own as he viewed the carnage through his friend's eyes. His home burning. He turned, and saw a beautiful man at his side. His chest burned as he looked at him, and he could feel 'Sherlock's' love for this stranger coursing though his veins. 'Run' he thought 'get away', 'save him'. Because he knew. He knew The Doctor had to end it. He knew it would all be destroyed, and he knew they would all perish if they didn't get away soon.

He was running, his legs burning as he fought to get to his machine, their escape. He turned and his heart plummeted. He saw him fall. His love, his only love. And he ran. He never stopped running. Through time, space. Never stopping, never staying with anyone for more than a few months, because it hurt too much. It hurt to know that he had lost **_him. _**

He was tired. Tired of moving, tired of running. And he wanted to forget. Just to forget. And then he saw the watch. He felt pain in every fibre of his being, as everything he is, was rewritten.

Sherlock removed his hands from John's head, and stared deep into the other mans eyes. John could see tears glistening in the other mans eyes. Sherlock Holmes did not cry. Ever. That's when John knew it was real. This was really happening to him, and it terrified him.

'It was the watch John, when you mentioned it, it broke the perception filter. I _saw _it. I opened it. It changed everything back'

John stared at his flatmate, panic etched across his face. His muscles trembling uncontrollably. He jumped up and sprinted out of the apartment, he was barefoot, and the wood of the stairs left fine splinters in his feet as he ran out of 221B and into the road. It was a crisp morning, and the cool air felt like shards of ice in his lungs. He gasped for breath and fell to the pavement like a block of lead. His hands felt like they belonged to a different person. His mind still carried traces of the images he had just seen. He could still feel the pain. The pain that the man, who used to be Sherlock was feeling, and it was tearing him up inside. Eating away at his soul and corroding his heart. He had never felt that degree of sadness before, and he had been in Afghanistan. He had watched his friends die around him, and sat at their funerals as their families wept. But that was nothing compared to the sorrow he had felt inside of this man's head. It had consumed John like a fire. He could see why he had chosen to become Sherlock Holmes, John wished he could forget as well.

John turned his head to the side and retched, producing nothing but bile. He would remember now though, wouldn't he? Sherlock. He'd feel that pain again. Was that his fault? Sherlock had said something about the watch. It was John that had brought it up. He had done that to his best friend. Wait, if Sherlock was really dead, as the man claimed.. Had he _killed_ his best friend? He felt sick.

The images were fading now. Forgotten memories from someone else's past. But they were memories, not dreams. Not stories. That sort of loneliness can't be created. That sort of destruction couldn't be imagined in the mind of even the most sadistic of all men. It made no sense to him. The man upstairs in his flat was certainly not as normal as he had previously thought, and Sherlock had never been normal. But who was he? Who was the man who had died? The one he had loved. John was stung by a pang of jealousy.

'_Really?' _His subconscious sneered at him. '_You're whole life view has been changed and you're jealous of the man who you're flatmate once loved. You don't even know him.'_

And it was true. John didn't know him. The man he trusted with his life, the man he lived with, the man he.. loved? Was that what it was? John had no idea who he was anymore, and that scared him more than anything else he had seen that day. For inside Sherlock's mind, he had not only felt pain and sorrow. There was also rage. A deep set hatred of life, and the universe for what it had done to him. John was sure this man was dangerous.

Picking himself up from the pavement proved more challenging than he had thought. But he forced himself upright, and trudged back into the flat. The morning had been filled with problems.

And when one wants to solve a puzzle. One goes to Sherlock Holmes.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Hello everyone! So, I abandoned this fic for a long time. Err sorry about that. But I got bored over Christmas and decided to see if I could take it any further. Thank you to everyone still reading! **

John sighed as he twisted the doorknob to enter the flat. The metal felt cold in his hand, and he realised his palms were sweating. He was afraid. '_This is stupid' _he thought. '_It's Sherlock, it's just your best friend, Sherlock Holmes'._

Wasn't it? Who knew anymore. John had a feeling that a lot was going to happen today, and he probably wouldn't like a lot of it. Maybe this wouldn't be a quiet week after all. He entered the room to see Sherlock lying on the couch, eyes closed, hands to his face, as if he were praying.

'Oh good you're back, I was starting to think you'd left me' he said, eyes still closed.

'I was only out for ten minutes Sherlock, I'm surprised you noticed'

The man chucked, his hands raked across his head in a manner most unlike Sherlock, his curls flopping back down into their usual state of disarray.

'Yes, I do that sometimes don't I? Forget you. I may be slightly more observant now, my mind seems to be working at full capacity again'

'Yes.. About that' The doctor collapsed on the sofa and leaned forwards over his knees. 'you're really different, you're not.. you? You're-'

'Yes I'm a _Timelord _John, I am different from you, and not quite the man you thought I was.'

John brought his hand to the bridge of his nose and squeezed slightly. He was starting to get a headache. 'Just, stop being so bloody cryptic ok? Just. Start from the beginning. You keep saying Timelord, what is that? A position?'

Sherlock laughed, and John looked at him surprised. He seemed genuinely amused. 'No, no. It's me. I am a Timelord like you are a Human.'

'So what, you're saying you're a different species? This is pretty farfetched Sherlock, I mean.. if you hadn't shown me that.. Thing. Well I wouldn't be listening to you right now, that's for sure.'

'Ah yes. Well I'm sorry I had to do that John, I realise that seeing inside my mind can be fairly, well shall we say, intense? But it really was vital that you believed me. So I'll start again shall I?'

John nodded and sat back in his chair. He still wasn't convinced that this wasn't some elaborate practical joke.. But he may as well hear him out. He supposed he owed him that much. This was going to be a long day. 'Right then, I guess I'll start at the beginning, please try to save your questions for the end or we'll never get anything done. Ok so, I am a Timelord, and I am not Sherlock Holmes. Although for the sake of convenience you may continue to call me that, I fear it is a habit that will be hard to break, and yes John, and you correctly stated I am not of your species. I am in fact not from earth. I am from Galifrey, and please don't even ask where that is because it would take to long and the task of imagining it may prove to much for you. Understood?'

John started to protest, and then nodded for him to continue. He'd learned there was little point arguing with him when he was in this mood a long time ago.

'Ok! So the watch you found. It's a chameleon arch. It makes me appear human. Well, actually it rewrote my DNA, and I became human. For the record John, doing this is painful and should not be attempted too often if one wants to retain their sanity. Anyway, for the time I have known you, and for a good few years before that I have been human, and the very essence of my time lord being has been contained in this watch, and if you thought I was a genius when I was Sherlock, well. Let the games begin. I swear John, I feel infinite. All my brilliance has been locked away and hidden from me all these years, and now I am complete again. Because of you. I couldn't have noticed the watch on my own because there was a perception filter on it. That means I could see it, but it couldn't hold my attention long enough for me to open it, or work out what it was.'

Sherlock stopped talking, a smile on his face. He seemed to think that he'd explained everything. But all was not clear to John. Everything was still fairly opaque!

'Ok then, so you're an alien. Fine I get that. But why would you do that in the first place. If you're so brilliant why give that up?'

Sherlock stared at him disbelief obvious upon his face. 'I would have thought that was clear from the memories I showed you.'

'Errr no Sherlock. I apologise for not being 'brilliant' but you may have to break it down a bit further for me'

He blinked. 'I am sorry. I often forget how slowly your brains process information. It's hardly your fault after all. There was a war. A war to end all wars, and I don't mean like the one's you have here. So called 'world wars'. You cannot imagine the pain and the destruction I have seen.'

'Now hold on one second. You forget I was a soldier! I fought. I know what it's like out there.'

'Yes and I do not mean to undermine your suffering. But the scale of this war John. Whole planets destroyed, civilisations uprooted.' His eyes glazed over, and John couldn't help remember the vision. It was fuzzy now, but he was fairly sure Sherlock had lost something, or someone. But what? And why didn't he just tell him.

'Well the war had to end John, and there was only one solution. It cost us our home. But he could end it. The Doctor'

'That's right! The Doctor! He was in that.. thing you showed me..'

'Yes. He finished it. We lost everything, but I survived...'

He trailed off gazing into space again. John could see pain in his eyes, but he couldn't quite place it. And then, like a light being turned on he snapped back to reality. 'yes and then I ran, I ran for a long time John. Until I was tired of running. I came here, I became the worlds only consulting detective, luckily I kept my intellect in the change, I met you. And here we are. End of story.'

John didn't think it was the end, not really. He still had a million unanswered questions bouncing off the inside of his skull. He sighed. 'Ok, but Sherlock what about your family, you have a brother! If you're not from around here how does Mycroft fit into all of this?'

'Ah yes well here I have to guess what has happened. You see, I am old John. Much older than I appear. And while I like to.. travel with people. I can't always find companions who are, err able to stay with me for long.'

He paused, and frowned. John had the feeling that he might not like what was coming.

'Mycroft travelled with me for a while. Years ago, when he was young. He was an orphan, just out of high school. And he came with me for a while. But he grew tired of it, wanted to settle down. And he left me. Now I can only assume that when I landed here as a human, Mycroft recognised me and decided to integrate himself into my life. I mean, I had told him about the arch before, and he's bright enough to have figured it out.'

'Yes but, you believed he was your brother. How does that work?'

Sherlock grinned, obviously pleased at the cleverness of his technology. 'The first few days as a human are strange. Your mind works to build a life for you, so that youy don't realise you shouldn't be there. I mean, you can't just make yourself human and have no memories at all. I'd have been suspicious. So I guess Mycroft shows up, within the first 48 hours and tells me he's my brother. My mind takes this, and believes it formulating new memories around it.'

He smirked. 'I was clever enough to fool myself John'

John smiled back 'good for you'

There was a silence for a second, and then John said 'Is this why I've never met your parents?'

Sherlock laughed. 'Yes neither Mycroft of I have any. However he's always preferred to pretend he's not an orphan. It makes him appear less vulnerable.'

'Huh' John noted. He was thinking that being an orphan didn't suggest vulnerability to him, look at Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy by day, and badass crime fighting vigilante by night. _Stop it John, this hardly matters now. _He shook his head forcing himself back to the reality of 221B baker street.

Sherlock stood up and strode into the kitchen. John heard the rush of the tap being turned on, and the flare of the gas starting. Sherlock was making tea. As if nothing was unusual at all. As if John's whole life hadn't just been turned inside out. _Everything you know about him is a lie _his brain commented _Looks like he was a fake after all._

_Worst fears confirmed! _It added helpfully.

'Yes, Thank you!' John added out loud. 'Way to comfort me in my time of need.'

Sherlock's head appeared around the kitchen door. 'Are you quite alright John?'

'Er yeah fine' He mumbled. He sat back and closed his eyes. Flashed of Sherlock's memories came back to him. 'Sherlock, you haven't mentioned who that man was. I mean, he seemed pretty important, was that, I don't know. A boyfriend?'

There was a small crash in the kitchen. John jumped up and ran in. A teacup lay in pieces on the floor. Sherlock's hands were on the kitchen counter, like he was bracing himself. He was looking away from John, but John could tell his face was contorted in pain.

'That's, that's not.. I've told you everything you need to know John there is no point prying, that's gone that's dead and buried.'

He stiffened further at his own words and any doubts John had faded. Whoever this man was, Sherlock has lost him.

'I- I'm just going out ok, nothing to worry about don't wait up.'

Sherlock practically ran out of the flat, grabbing his scarf on the way but forgetting his coat. He didn't return for it. John sat back down, and remained there for a long time. He didn't know how long exactly. The events of the day were doing back flips across his mind, and his subconscious was going crazy. Finally he gave up and went to bed.

Just as he was going to sleep a single thought popped into his brain.

'_well, you know he's not asexual!' _it quipped.

'Shut up.' John said to the empty room, as sleep dragged him into her warm embrace.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: If anyone has any ideas for this story please do message me. I'm making it up as I go along and don't really know what I'm doing. Also I have no Beta, so excuse mistakes. I'm mainly doing this for my own amusement. **

John didn't hear Sherlock come home that night for two reasons 1. He was asleep. 2. Sherlock didn't want to be heard. He couldn't cope with talking to John again tonight. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget the day. He supposed that he was glad to have himself back again. But at the same time, there was a reason he'd chosen to become human in the first place. He had wanted to forget, and now those old memories were resurfacing, scratching at old scars and drawing fresh blood.

'Stop it' He scolded himself. 'No point worrying now, what's done is done.' _And this is most defiantly done._

His head hit the pillow and he was out in seconds, the smell of the cotton creeping from the crisp sheets into the depths of his sleep.

_The fog clears, and through it he makes out the shape of a man, dark haired, olive skinned and shorter than himself. _

_'We shouldn't be here!' the man says grimacing. 'Look, if we just go back now no one will even know we left..'_

_'Come on Q! He found himself saying. 'We'll only be away for an hour! When was the last time we were alone together?'_

_He placed his hand on the other man's face, turning it towards him and looking into the brown orbs that were his eyes. _

_'Trust me' The man smiled weakly, and nodded. 'Come on then, just round here.'_

_His hand slipped from the man's face, and slid down his side to grab his hand. He started running, pulling his companion along with him. He was laughing._

_After a minute or two they stopped, 'Here we are, see? It's perfect!' Q smiled. _

_'yeah it is, you're right. Of course you're right. They'll not see us here'_

_He produced a blanket, seemingly out of nowhere and the pair sat down on it. Hidden from the citadel by a cluster of rocks. Here there was no higher power, nothing to stop them from stealing an hour or two. _

_'Q do you ever think of leaving Gallifrey? There is a whole universe to see. Out there. I don't want to spend eternity sitting here and observing. You know?'_

_His companion turned and looked at him. 'We could you know. Just say the word and we can run. We never have to stop running. It can just be us.'_

_He wanted that, he wanted to more than anything. But something stopped him from agreeing. Something was tethering him here. 'Soon. I promise, I just. I can't yet ok?'_

_His friend sighed, but nodded. 'Sure.' He leaned over and put his hand on the shorter man's shoulder. _

_'We will.' He sighed. 'Just one day, can we just enjoy this now? While we can?'_

_'Sure' he replied. He leaned in so their foreheads were almost touching. His hand reached up and gripped 'Sherlock's face, and he smiled. He could feel his breath on his cheek, and relaxed. Everything would be ok._

Sherlock awoke with a start in his bed in 221B. He was sweating, and his shirt has stuck to his back. He stood up and walked to the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, he breathed out heavily. He glanced in the mirror and was surprised to see his face covered in tears. The dream had not been sad. Infact, that day had been one of the happiest of his life.

_Why didn't you leave? _His inner voice whined. _Before it was too late? We could have been happy. _

He splashed his face with water and groaned. The cold bringing him completely to his senses. What could he do?

He could go for a walk? Maybe go see Mycroft, let him know he was 'him' again. He could wake John up. He would try and find a case?

But reality would still be there. Tearing him apart inside. Because however hard he tried to forget it would always find him again. He had lost him. And it was his fault. **His fault.** Because he hadn't been brave enough to run, before it was already too late.

Sherlock was lost inside his head for several hours. Lying on his couch with his eyes squeezed shut. He had heard John getting up a few hours ago, heard him blunder into the bathroom to clean his teeth, the water gargling in his throat. The start of his day, the last sound from a drowning man.

He was searching, searching for a way out. '_For goodness sake' _He was internally screaming now. _'If Sherlock Holmes can't find a way out of this..' _ He no longer knew who he was. Before it had been so clear. He was a Timelord, a guardian of the universe. An eternal traveller. But now he was also Sherlock Holmes. He was having difficulty separating himself from the persona he had created. He had been Sherlock for so long, and he had been happy hadn't he?

Yes. For the first time in a long time, he had been happy. He had a life here, he had intellectual challenges and no memories of his past. And he had John, his friend. Who he probably hadn't appreciated enough as Sherlock. But that was over now. He remembered, and the pain was fresh.

**"But he could not renounce his infinite capacity for illusion at the very moment he needed it most... he saw fireflies where there were none." **

Eurgh. He hated it when his brain did that. It was throwing quotes at him. Sometimes his intelligence was a curse. But it was right. He had created a life for himself here at 221B. And it was an illusion, Sherlock Holmes had been shaped by fake memories, and fake relationships. Was he clinging desperately to this illusion of a life simply because he had nothing else?

_'Not all fake' _he thought. _'John is my friend. John likes me.' _

He did didn't he? Sherlock was sure John considered him a friend. Perhaps even more. But the seed had been planted, and doubt started to eat away at his mind.

_'What did he call you once when he introduced you as a friend? Colleague?' _

Maybe that was all he was to John, a flatmate nothing more. It was possible. Maybe he was seeing fireflies where there were none.

He groaned in frustration

-Open Mind Palace -

_Solutions..._

_1. Stay_

-Live the life of Sherlock Holmes, tempting.

- Fake - Problem

_Rebuild_

_-_Start again with John. Rebuild friendship from scratch. With true identity

_Run_

_-_Tempting

'No' He said outloud. 'Not this time'

_So stay. Continue this life. Not possible. Not with the knowledge I now posses. _

_4. Forget._

- _Use the arch again, rebuild somewhere new._

_John..._

That was not a solution. He couldn't lose everything he had all over again.

-Close Mind Palace-

Well that solved nothing. His future was still cloudy, this had never happened before. He had always had a plan. Originally his future was outlined for him by the citadel. Then he had started to decide his own path, he had planned to spend it with him. With Q. Gone. Then he had been running, the plan was only to get far away. And then the plan was to forget.

Now he had nothing. '_is this what it's like for ordinary people?' _he wondered. It felt to him that he was trapped inside a maze, with no possible way of getting out.

'**How will I ever get out of this Labyrinth.'**

It was then that John Watson walked into the room. He smiled at Sherlock and sat down in his chair, picking up the paper and engrossing himself in it. A warmth burned inside his chest. Yes, he was lost, and could see no way out. But he wasn't alone. And he may as well enjoy the time he spends inside.

**AN: The quotes in this chapter are both from 'The General In His Labyrinth' By Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It's a beautiful book, that was brought to my attention by John Green via 'Looking for Alaska.'**


End file.
